


Client Control

by beccabuchanans (vestigialwords)



Series: Law Firm Hijinks [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Law Firm AU, M/M, Skinny!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 19:56:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3353366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vestigialwords/pseuds/beccabuchanans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were about a hundred other things that James “Bucky” Buchanan Barnes Jr. would rather be doing. Absolutely zero of them included sitting in a lumpy chair breathing the stale air of a cramped closet doubling as a conference room, getting lectured by a scrawny punk of a junior partner, because apparently a night of drunken debauchery didn’t warrant the attention of the high-and-mighty Nicholas J. Fury, esq., senior partner of Carter Phillips & Stark, P.L.C.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Client Control

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by an Anonymous Tumblr User: Bucky x Steve - Skinny!Steve kick-ass defensive lawyer assigned to defend the rich and spoiled heir Bucky Barnes. Also posted [here](http://jakejensen.co.vu/post/88150061604/for-that-pairing-au-meme-bucky-x-steve)

There were about a hundred other things that James “Bucky” Buchanan Barnes Jr. would rather be doing, most of them involving drunken hook-ups in club bathrooms and snorting coke from the belly of the next nameless person who threw a steady leer in his direction. Absolutely zero of them included sitting in a lumpy chair breathing the stale air of a cramped closet doubling as a conference room, getting lectured by a scrawny punk of a junior partner, because apparently a night of drunken debauchery didn’t warrant the attention of the high-and-mighty Nicholas J. Fury, esq., senior partner of Carter Phillips & Stark, P.L.C.

The attorney Fury sent in his place cut such an unimposing figure in his ill-fitting suit that Bucky assumed he was a clerk at first, assigned to appease him and make sure he was comfortable. The kid’s face was soft and delicate, a cordial greeting and introduction falling from his earnest face like he actually cared about Bucky’s answers. Bucky was five seconds away from opening his mouth to ask for a cup of coffee when the kid spread a file out out on the conference table and launched into a less-than-riveting lecture on how to best answer questions at a deposition hearing.

He had been droning on for about twenty minutes before Bucky realized that—Rogers? Steve, maybe?—is waiting, eyes wide, for him to respond.

Bucky grins, baring his teeth in a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and it’s the wrong answer.

"Listen here," Steve snarls, reaching across the table in the time it takes Bucky to blink. He fists his hands in Bucky’s lapels and yanks his chest across the table. Bucky’s blood runs cold in his veins and he feels his stomach drop. Steve’s voice is soft and lethal, barely audible above the pounding of blood in Bucky’s ears, his words puffing soft breaths against Bucky’s cheek. "I am trying to help you Barnes, but so help me God, if you fuck up tomorrow, you will go to prison, and I won’t feel bad about it.”

Bucky knows how to respond to the detached glare of experienced attorneys who have jumped through hoops set up by wealthy men too many times to count. He can handle lawyers who are more motivated by his pocketbook than any genuine concern for his well-being. But this is different and he forgets to breathe in the face of it. The bright blue eyes that clamp down on his face flash hot with rage, but instead of contempt, he reads something softer—desperation, maybe. Compassion, perhaps, if he ever knew what that even looked like.

Seconds pass like hours as Bucky sits frozen in his chair, held up by a skinny arm that, by all accounts, shouldn’t be able to support his weight for as long as it does. Bucky’s about to tuck his tail between his legs and apologize when Steve finally breaks.

“ _Shit_.”

Panic sparks in Steve’s eyes and he shoves Bucky back. The chair wheels back from the table with the force of it and Steve stalks from the room, his hands shoved into his hair, gripping tight at the blond flop on top of his head.

The door slams shut behind him and Bucky closes his eyes—breathes in, out, in, out. When his breathing finally returns to normal, or as close as it’ll get, he reaches forward to take one of the plain business cards that have spilled out of Steve’s folder, and makes a mental note to never work with anyone else ever again.


End file.
